The Gay Bomb Affair
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Why is Napoleon suddenly so unattractive to women and yet men can't seem to resist his charms? Why, it's THRUSH, of course. It's always THRUSH. Based on a true story and a wonderful prompt! If it's yours, please let me know. Warning - some adult situations suggested, but no "/".


The room was nearly dark, lit only by the bluish light from the television screen. Two men were watching the couple displayed on it.

"Oh, Napoleon," the woman moaned as Napoleon nibbled his way down her throat.

"The codes, my sweet."

"Anything, my love, anything."

With a grunt, the man closest to the TV turned it off with such violence, the entire set shook.

"What was that for?" Frank Congo was used to his partner's violent outburst. He watched as Red, as he preferred to call the man stormed around the room, waving his arms at invisible assailants.

"She is our best agent and it took Solo less than two hours to turn her from a top THRUSH operative to a gushing font of knowledge." Red slammed himself into an office chair and scowled. "Granted all the information we gave her was wrong…"

"That goes without saying." Congo smiled tightly. "Was our best agent. The orders have already gone out."

"Good." "What magic does that man possess?" Red gestured to the now-dark TV. "Her, Angelique… God knows how many others."

"Then you agree he's the perfect choice."

"Will the effects be permanent?"

"Doubtful, but they will at least give us an indication of how the drug works and whether or not the application is worth THRUSH's time and expense."

"Make it happen, Congo." Red's right hand clenched into a fist. "I want to see Solo fall… hard."

Congo grinned. "Oh, you can count on it, Red. He is going to have the adventure of a lifetime."

The first thought to crawl into the cotton that was Napoleon Solo's brain mostly involved how terrible his mouth tasted. He felt parched, as if he'd spent the day in the desert sucking on sand.

The first chill crept up his spine and he shivered. The mere action brought a dozen other sensations crashing into his head.

He could hear distant traffic, smell dirt mixed with urine, grass… Finally Napoleon got his eyes open.

He was sprawled out beneath a partially dead bush. He was dressed in only his underwear and he abruptly realized the smell of urine was from him.

Napoleon swore and tried to focus. He remembered saying a hurried good bye to Illya and dashing out of Del's. He was late for a date and he needed flowers. There was a vender down the block and he paused to see the selection. There was a whistle, a snap and that was it.

With a Herculean effort, Napoleon managed to get into a sitting position. There was an ugly bruise forming in the crook on his left arm. There were also bruises and rope burns around his wrists. Obviously, he'd been a guest of THRUSH. But why release him?

Rubbing his eyes carefully, Napoleon suddenly spotted a flash of silver and he reached for it almost instinctively.

"My communicator?" Napoleon rasped and then coughed. "Why would they leave me my communicator?" He lifted it to his mouth, twisting it on. "Open Channel D."

"Napoleon?" Illya's response was almost instantaneous. "Is that really you?"

"So the rumors would have it."

"Where are you?"

"Good question." Napoleon looked around, but nothing seemed familiar to him. He could smell water and hear gulls cry. "I don't know. Down by the river, I think."

"Leave your communicator on and we'll triangulate."

"Illya, hurry!"

"I will."

"And bring me something to wear."

"All right. Kuryakin out."

Napoleon shivered and tried to wad himself into a fetal position. He was out of sight for the most part. He was so cold and so thirsty.

A million years went by before he saw a sedan driving across the stretch of dusty grass. It stopped about a dozen yards from him and Illya got out. He looked around and only then did Napoleon feel the strength to fight his way to his feet. It was almost too much and the world danced around him.

Then he felt familiar arms, as strong and reassuring around him as the blanket was warm and comforting.

"Hold on, Napoleon. We'll get you back home."

"Sorry to bother you," Napoleon whispered, trying to make it sound casual.

"Don't talk. Just rest."

Napoleon managed to stay conscious until he was safely tucked into the back seat of the sedan. _Good old Illya,_ he thought as he drifted away. _You can always count on him for a morning after rescue._

The smile on Red's face was only matched by the bounce in his step. Congo glanced up from the dossier he was studying. "I take it that it went well?"

"Solo never knew what hit him." Red slid into his desk chair and reached for a pencil. "Kuryakin just picked him up and took him away."

"Are you sure it's working?"

"We'll find out soon enough." He checked his watch. "The docs say it will take another hour or so before the symptoms manifest themselves. If I were Kuryakin, I'd be putting in for some extended vacation time."

"So if it does work, how is this going to benefit THRUSH?" Congo closed the file and pushed it aside. Anything was better than combing through old dossier files to make sure there were no surviving relatives. He hated clean up assignments.

"We can hold entire countries for ransom. Imagine that you are a small but rapidly developing country when suddenly you experience zero population growth-"

Congo interrupted. "That's a bad thing?"

"It can be, especially if your armies are all too infatuated with each other to fight. We can walk in and take over without firing a shot."

"What's to keep our own people immune when they go in?"

"They are developing that as I speak. You have to remember this is still in its testing phase, but if it works on Solo with his attraction for the opposite sex…. Heh, heh, heh… we are in like Flynn."

Napoleon sipped the water, savoring the trickle of it against his throat. Waverly watched him anxiously.

"And you have no idea what happened, Mr. Solo?" It was the third time Waverly had put the question to him

"No, sir. I stopped at the flower vendor's, heard a noise and the next thing I remember was waking up this morning."

"Judging from the bruises, you gave them a fight for their money." Illya sounded like a little proud, as if Napoleon had done something extraordinarily brave.

"Any idea what they gave me, Doc?" Napoleon shifted his attention from his partner to that of the doctor, who was taking Napoleon's pulse for the fifth time.

"No, but the blood tests should be able to give us a clue. Until then, I would like to keep you here under observation." The doctor's fingers trailed over the back of Napoleon's hand in a near caress. "We need to watch you… closely."

Napoleon withdrew his hand and nodded. "All right, but I think I'd be safer at home."

"Safer than in UNCLE HQ? Impossible!" Waverly blustered. "You are here to stay, Mr. Solo, until we know what has happened to you."

Illya laughed and patted Napoleon's shoulder. "Don't worry, Napoleon, there will be plenty of pretty young things all ready to take care of you."

The doctor cleared his throat and he bounced up onto his toes. "I will make sure Mr. Solo is made very comfortable."

Congo knocked on Red's door once and then entered. Even though the man was his partner, Congo had learned the hard way not to surprise him. It had taken two months for the gunshot wound to heal.

Red was shuffling papers, a worthwhile task to any desk jockey. "What can I do for you, Congo?"

"Got the latest report on Solo."

"Is the pen still working?"

"Like a charm." Congo smirked as he parked his hip on Red's desk. "I cannot believe they didn't even check it out."

"I'm guessing they were just happy to have their golden calf returned to them unharmed."

"I do have a question, though." Congo crossed his arms across his chest.

"Fire away."

"Why isn't my name on the assignment with yours? I had to do all the dirty work."

Red frowned and reached for the report, then shook his head. "No idea. It must be an oversight. I'll get it taken care of."

"I'd appreciate that. It would appear that Solo is lying low for the moment. No one has been able to track him down. They finally found our bugs, so the pen's been disabled."

"Not even his partner?"

"For some reason, the Powers That Be have seen to it that Kuryakin has been occupied elsewhere. Waverly has been sending him on one assignment after another. The last time he saw Solo was when he brought him in."

"Interesting. Even the Old Man is staking his claim?"

"That could get interesting. We might well be seeing the end of UNCLE."

"Not bad for a first shot out of the gate."

Illya Kuryakin yawned and tried to keep from tripping over his feet. He was exhausted and more than that, he was annoyed. For two weeks he'd been kept on the run. If he didn't know better, Illya would swear Waverly had it out for him. He'd climbed through sweltering jungles, waded through mosquito infested ponds, staked out a warehouse, and even camped out in a sewer and all for nothing. Worse, Napoleon had gone on vacation without a word to anyone.

Illya had tried contacting him a few times, but gave up after being continually routed elsewhere by communications. He didn't know what was going on at HQ, but all he wanted was a good night's sleep in his own bed. Tomorrow he would try to unravel the mystery.

Unlocking his door, he stepped through and quickly canceled, then reset the alarm. According to HQ, it had been acting up as well, but a routine maintenance had revealed nothing. Dropping the suitcase in the small hall, he headed straight for the bedroom. Then he stopped. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

The air in his apartment usually smelled stale and dusty and today it didn't. Instead it smelled almost fresh and there was a nearly undetectable trace of something… it was familiar and then it wasn't. Abruptly Illya smiled and sighed.

"Napoleon, I know you are here. You can come out. I am alone."

For a long moment nothing happened, then there was a shuffle and Napoleon appeared at the bedroom door, a haunted look in his eyes.

"Napoleon, what's wrong?"

"You aren't going to… touch me, are you?"

"Why would I do that?" Illya paused, studying his partner closely, but he didn't move from his spot. "Napoleon?"

"I'm… I'm sorry, Illya. I had to hide somewhere where they wouldn't look for me."

"How long?"

"Nearly two weeks."

"You are the reason for the faulty alarm readings."

"Yes, I would wait until dark and then go out. Even then, there was no guarantee."

"What are you talking about?" As tired as Illya was, the stress in Napoleon's voice superseded everything else.

"You look like you are ready to drop." Napoleon abruptly changed topics and Illya looked past him to the bed that beckoned.

"A week of sleeping in ditches and haystacks does not for sound slumber make."

"Listen, why don't you get some sleep?"

"What about you?"

"I'd… l'd like to stay here if I could."

"Of course." Napoleon stepped aside and as Illya passed, Napoleon watched him as if he was prepared to bolt at a second's notice. "Napoleon, I am not going to be able to sleep a wink until you come clean with me. What is going on?"

For a moment, Illya wondered if his partner was going to flee, collapse or punch him.

"It's sort of a long story."

"_Reader's Digest_ version." Illya walked to his bed and sat down to unbutton his shirt.

"Men can't seem to leave me alone and women don't seem to want anything to do with me."

"Okay." Illya looked up from his task of untying his shoes. "When did this first start?"

"I noticed it in Medical. I was flirting like mad with Marcie and Janine. They looked at me like I was some sort of not-very-interesting fungus. The doc, on the other hand, couldn't leave me alone. He was always examining me."

"He's a doctor. That's his job."

"Not like this… trust me, Illya. When he tried to give me a sponge bath, I checked myself out and went back to work."

"A sponge bath? I shudder at the image." Illya stood to unbuckle his belt, undo his fly and let his pants fall. "At least work was safe."

"Not really." Napoleon sat beside him. "The guys, they were, well, fawning all over me."

"The way you do with a new secretary."

"Well, yes, not to put too fine a point on it… even Mr. Waverly seemed overly… friendly."

Illya got his shirt off. "Then why am I not responding that way? I look at you and see you."

"I don't know." Napoleon sighed and got up. "I'll let you sleep." He started to leave.

"Napoleon." Illya's voice stopped him. "We will get to the bottom of this. Until then, you are safe with me and welcome to stay here as long as you want."

"Thanks, you don't know what that means to me."

Illya smiled. "You've been my refuge many times. It is only right that I respond in kind." He yawned and climbing in between the sheets. "Please shut the door on the way out."

It was a gloriously sunny day at THRUSH Central office, both inside and out. The promotion list had gone out and Congo found Red's name at the top of the list. He scanned the list again vainly for his name.

"This is the first time you've been promoted and I haven't," Congo muttered, still slightly shellshock. "I don't get it."

"It has to be the Solo thing." Red was adjusting his lapel and looking just a little smug. "I did tell them that you were as equally involved with the project as I am. I don't know what to tell you, pal."

Congo's eyes narrowed slightly, unhappy with the condescending tone of his partner. However, he wasn't about to act upon it now that Red was his superior. THRUSH was very strict about such things. He switched topics. "What is going on with that? I haven't heard anything for days."

"No idea. Solo is still out of play." They are watching his place, but to no avail."

"Not a bad thing. We've had several smaller attacks succeed because he's not around. This could be a fringe benefit."

"My thoughts exactly. See if you can dig up anything new on it for me, will you? But, grab me a cup of coffee first, though?"

A variety of retorts sped through Congo's mind, but he was smart enough to keep them unvoiced. This was not good at all.

Illya bent over the microscope and squinted through the eyepiece.

"What are you looking at?"

Illya looked up and gave the tech, Lindsey, a lopsided grin. "A blood sample. I'm trying to figure out what I'm seeing."

"May I?"

Illya stood up and gestured to the microscope. She took his seat and hunched down. "That's weird."

"What?"

"What sort of blood is that?"

"Human."

"Are you sure?"

"I took it myself. What's wrong with it?

"You see those little off-white bits?"

"White blood cells."

"No, something else. Do you have any more of this?"

"A test tube full."

"Would you let me run some tests on it?"

"Of course." Then Illya caught her hand and looked deeply into her eyes. "I need this to stay between us. A man's life is in the balance."

"It's Napoleon, isn't it? That's why he's gone into hiding."

"Why would you say that?"

"You haven't been here for a while."

"That's correct."

"Illya, it was crazy. He was being followed around by a bunch of love-sick puppies."

Illya smiled, backing off the intensity of his gaze. "What's new about that? Women can't resist him. He's like honey to them."

"It was all men. Jules Cutter was here for his mandatory check-up and he cornered Napoleon in Medical. He tried to kiss him!"

"What? Cutter?" Illya shuddered. "That's just too revolting to even think about. No wonder he went into hiding."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yes."

"Keep him safe. I'll get to work on this."

Congo was doing a slow burn in spite of everything. He told himself that it wasn't that Red was the better agent. He was simply more successful at playing the game. He told himself the money wasn't that much that it really made a difference in the end.

What was rankling him down to his core is that he was told Red had purposefully kept Congo's name off the assignment. As far as THRUSH Central went, this was all Red's doing. They were very excited about the prospects of dosing all the senior Section Two male agents and watching the chaos develop.

Congo looked down at the tube in his hand. If the Hierarchy found out about this, his life wouldn't be worth spit. Honestly, after a week of being made to grovel and play go-fer, he was through, anyway. He dropped it into a padded envelope and sealed it.

He walked out of headquarters and no one even noted his passing. He ventured from downtown to Manhattan and not a single person looked his way. He turned onto a side street and found himself staring at a sign proclaiming, _Del Floria's Tailor Shop_. Congo just hoped Kuryakin hadn't been sent on an assignment.

The bell tinkled merrily as he entered and he jumped in spite of himself. Behind the counter, an old man watched him, an expression of amusement and wariness on his face.

"Can I help you?"

Congo held the envelope out. "Give this to Kuryakin. It's what he needs."

"Ain't no Kuryakin here," the old man argued, but his hand was drifting beneath the counter.

"Give it to him, old man." And Congo fled before a trio of UNCLE agents could arrive. He headed for a nearby park and settled onto a bench. For the first time in a long time, he felt happy… and vindicated. Now maybe Red would get his.

Napoleon paced the small confines of Illya's apartment like a caged animal. He hadn't dared to leave since he'd been nearly mobbed at a grocery store. Having a butcher trying to cop a feel was not a pleasant memory.

There was noise at the door and he slipped quietly into the bedroom. He held his breath and closed his eyes.

"Napoleon?"

With a sigh, he left the bedroom and stopped. Illya was standing in the hall with a woman. She seemed vaguely familiar, but a little too mousy for his tastes.

"It's okay, Napoleon." Illya pulled her forward. "Lindsey has been helping me in the lab. We had a sort of a breakthrough today."

"You know what is wrong with me?"

"And how to fix it, although I can't take credit for the second part." The woman's hands fluttered nervously about her perfectly ordinary clothes.

"Let's go sit down, shall we?"

Illya led the way back into his living room and settled on the couch. Lindsey took a chair and Napoleon sat next to Illya.

"It's amazing."

"What?" Illya asked.

"You are totally unresponsive to it, aren't you? I know that there are some freaks of nature who are incapable of reception."

Illya smiled, although it seemed a bit sad. "Yes, that would be me, Mr. Freak."

"I didn't mean it like that, Illya. I just meant…"

"I know. I lack the necessary receptors. We went through this in the lab."

"Would someone please tell me what is going on?" Napoleon half-wailed the question and the two scientists looked in his direction.

"Sorry, Napoleon." Illya opened the briefcase he was carrying and pulled out a vial. "This is you."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, your blood at any rate. You have been super charged with pheromones."

"Pheromones… isn't that the chemical essence that some plants and insects give off."

"Exactly, Mr. Solo! You know your chemistry."

"I know my partner."

"People and animals have pheromones, too, Mr. Solo." Lindsey picked up a file and opened it. "That's how a male animal knows when a female is in estrus. It's also what makes women respond to a man and vice versa. Apparently when you went missing, THRUSH doctored your body chemistry. Not only did it kick up your pheromones, it altered them and boosted them through the roof."

"So that I was attractive to men instead of women?" Napoleon rubbed his chin. "Then what about Illya? He's the only guy I know who wasn't affected."

"There's a theory as to why some men…"

"Never mind that," Illya interrupted quickly. "The news is that we have a serum to counter it and get you back to your old womanizing self."

"Excellent and not a moment too soon. I have appreciated your hospitality, Illya, but I am so ready to be home. What do I have to do?"

Illya held up a hypo and grinned. "Drop your pants, bend over and take one for the Gipper."

"What do you mean they have the antidote? How did they get that? How dare you? I did nothing of the sort." Red was shouting into a phone. Quietly, Congo slipped past the office and went on his way. It was Red's own fault. He made Congo fake his signature on all those reports. Congo had gotten very good at signing Red's name. Very good, indeed, to the point that it was indistinguishable now.

He was attending to yet another meaningless courier job Red seemed to be sending him on more and more these days. Of course, it was to his benefit. The crap was hitting the fan and Red was having to deal with it all on his own. It was his own fault for keeping Congo's name off the assignment.

"When one wants to dance, one must pay the piper," Congo murmured. He picked up the attaché case and a set of car keys and left the building. When he came back, it might be very likely that he would have a new boss or even a new partner. THRUSH didn't take very kindly to people they didn't trust and Congo didn't take kindly to someone taking advantage of his good nature. And Red was going to find out that paybacks were a bitch.

Napoleon sat at his desk, happily digging through a month's worth of reports. He'd never thought something a dull as paperwork would make him feel this joyful.

Illya walked in and dropped his case onto his desk. "Morning," Illya yawned.

"You look like something the cat dragged in. Late night."

Illya grinned, slightly. "Early morning."

"Make sure you give Lindsey my best the next time you see her."

"I will."

"How does it feel to have your place back to yourself?"

"To be honest, it is a little quiet."

"Why, Mr. Kuryakin, are you propositioning me?"

"Not on your life." Illya sat and yawned again. "But I do have one question."

"And that is?"

"What's Cutter got that I haven't got?"


End file.
